A difficult journey...

I talked to Dad yesterday and was so relieved to hear his voice sounding more normal. It's clear his short term memory is severely impaired, and he is very confused. He thinks he is still at the nursing home. I reminded him I am coming to see him on Thursday, bringing him lots of hugs and kisses. I asked if I could bring anything else to him and vanilla shakes were his request.

I spoke with his meds nurse and asked her to ask the doctor to lower his dosage of the anti-depressants. She told me it takes 3 weeks to fully level out to see the results in a patient. We discussed Dad getting the Ensure shakes 3 times a day instead of once, and to remove him from the restricted diet. We can now bring him outside food into the psych ward. Course, we have no doubt have to "smuggle it" past the other patients.

Being in the midst of this difficult journey dredges up so many thought patterns. Some days I feel like I am losing my mind. The grief, sadness, over-protectiveness toward Dad not being able to look out for himself... It all swarms around me and tightens like a giant fist squeezing my chest. The burden of it is unbearable at times. Some times I feel I cannot take a full, deep breath.

I cannot help but imagine when I lie in my bed at night, thinking of Dad lying in that horrible place with shouting and screaming. Does he take himself to another place? Does he sink deeper into depression? Does he wonder how he got there? Maybe his delusions of getting a job as a Missionary give him hope and something to look forward to...

There is no way I can make sense of it. This journey we are all on is the same path, yet we may each take different alternate routes looking for a short cut. I can busy myself with no problem, but Dad is always with me. I see his face before me when I close my eyes and say prayers for his protection... and for all of us to have what we need to get through this...

Some times, when I find myself doing something he used to do, I wonder if I will end up like Dad. The thought terrifies me. The terror of it makes me less rigid, and wanting to be more compliant. I am referring only to my private life and relations to others. When it comes to being Dad's Advocate, I will not rest, I will be tenacious and diligent. I will not drop the ball, I will not give up. I have to stay on top of everything and make sure he is getting the best care we can possibly get for him.

I need to call my siblings and hear their voices. I need to know they are OK as well. This is just so difficult. I believe in God, but some days, it is so hard to understand why God would allow Dad to suffer this way, when Dad has been such a good person and such a faithful servant of the Lord...